^^^iv-=i> 


^^7*7-^ 


PIPES   OF    PAN 

BY 

BLISS   CARMAN 

Five  volumes  as  follows : 
Each  I  vol.,  cloth,  net,  $i.oo 

"  "    flexible  leather,         net,    j.jo 

now  ready 
From  the  Book  of  Myths 
From  the  Green  Book  of  the  Bards 
Songs  of  the  Sea  Children 
Songs  from  a  Northern  Garden 

in  pre  pa  ra  tion 
From  the  Book  of  Pierrot 

L.   C.   PAGE   &   COMPANY 

New  England  Building 
Boston.  Mass. 


Number  Four 

^ONGS    FROM 

A  NORTHERN  GARDEN 

BY 

BLISS   j::  ARM  AN 

AUTHOR   OF   "PIPES   OF   PAN," 
"SAPPHO,"    "THE   KINSHIP 
OF   NATURE,"    "THE 
FRIENDSHIP   OF 
ART,"  ETC. 


BOSTON 

L.C.PAGE  4  CO^ffifflW 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  iQOt 
By  Bliss  Carman 

Copyright,  igoj 
Bv  Perrv  Mason  Company 

Copyright,  IQOS 
By  Thk  Outlook  Company 

Copyright,  igoj 
By  Thk  Scott- Thaw  Company 

Copyright,  /<)04 

By  L.  C.  Pace  &  Company 

(incorporated^ 

A  a  rights  reserntd 


Published  August,  l<)04 
Second  Itnprtssivn,  May,  I<)i0 


COLONIAL    PRESS 

EUctrotyfid  and  Printed  hy  C.  H .  Sinionds  6*  Co. 

Boston,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A . 


CONTENTS 

Pace 

Our  Lady  of  the   Rain i 

In  a  Grand  Pr£    Garden 12 

The  Keepers  of  Silence 27 

At  Home   and  Abroad 30 

KiLLOOLEET 3  5 

St,   Bartholomew's  on  the   Hill  ....  39 

The  Church   of  the   Leaves 41 

The  Deep   Hollow  Road 46 

Malyn's  Daisy 48 

Above  the  Gaspereau 50 

The  Ballad  of  Father   Hudson   ....  79 

The  Word  at  St.  Kavin's 87 

Christmas  Eve  at  St.   Kavin's      ....  102 


OUR    LADY    OF    THE    RAIN. 

Across  the  purple  valleys, 
Along  the  misty  hills, 
By  murmur-haunted  rivers 
And  silver-gurgling  rills. 
By  woodland,  swamp  and  barren, 
By  road  and  field  and  plain, 
Arrives  the  Green  Enchantress, 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rain. 

Her  pure  and  mystic  planet 
Is  lighted  in  the  west; 
In  ashy-rose  and  lilac 
Of  meltins  evenmg  dressed. 
With  golden  threads  ol  sunset 
Inwoven  in  her  gown, 
I 


OUR      LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

With  glamour  of  the  springtime 
She  has  bewitched  the  town. 

Her  look  is  soft  with  dreaming 

On  old  forgotten  years; 

Her  eyes  are  grave  and  tender 

With  unpermitted  tears; 

For  she  has  known  the  sorrows 

Of  all  this  weary  earth, 

Yet  ever  brings  it  gladness, 

Retrieval  and  new  birth. 

And  when  her  splendid  pageant, 
Sidereal  and  slow, 
With  teeming  stir  and  import 
Sweeps  up  from  line  to  snow. 
There's  not  an  eager  mortal 
But   would    arise    and    make 
Some  Drave  unpromised  venture 
For  her  immortal  sake. 

2 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

For  no  man  knows  what  power 
Is  sleeping  in  the  seed, 
What    destiny    may    slumber 
Within  the  smallest  deed. 
In  calm  no  fret  can  hurry, 
Nor  any  fear  detain. 
She  brings  our  own  to  meet  us  — 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rain. 

She  saw  the  red  clay  moulded 
And  quickened  into  man ; 
The  sweetness  of  her  spirit 
Within  his  pulses  ran ; 
The  ardour  of  her  being 
Was  in  his  veins  like  fire, 
The  unreluctant  passion, 
The  unallayed  desire. 

'Twas  she  who  brought  rejoicing 
To  Babylon  and  Ur. 
3 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

To  Carthage  and  to  Sidon 

Men  came  to  worship  her. 

Her  soft  spring  rites  were  honoured 

At  Argolis  and  Troy, 

And  dark  Caldean  women 

Gave  thanks  to  her  for  joy. 

With  cheer  and  exaltation 

With  hope  for  all   things  born, 

To  hearten  the  disheartened, 

To   solace    the    forlorn. 

Too  gentle  and  all-seeing 

For  judgment  or   disdain, 

She  comes  with  loving  kindness  — 

Our    Lady   of    the    Rain. 

With  magical  resurgence 
For  all  the  sons  of  men 
She  crosses  winter's  frontier, 
They  know  not  whence  nor  when. 
4 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

Yet  silently  as  sunlight 
Along  the  forest  floor 
Her  step  is  on  the  threshold, 
Her  shadow  at  the  door. 

On  many  a  lonely  clearing 
Among  the  timbered  hills 
She  calls  across  the  distance, 
Until  the  twilight  fills 
With  voice  of  loosened  waters, 
And  from  the  marshy  ground 
Tlie  frogs  begin  refilling 
Their  flutes  with  joyous  sound. 

Then  note  by  note  is  lifted 
The  chorus  clear  and  shrill, 
And  all  who  hear  her  summons 
Must  answer  to  her  will ; 
For  she  will  not  abandon 
The  old  Pandean  strain 
5 


OUR     LADV     OF     THE      RAIN 

That  called  the  world  from  chaos - 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rain. 

And  still  her  wondrous  music 
Comes  up  with  early  spring, 
And  meadowland  and  woodland 
With  silver  wildness  ring; 
The  sparrow  by  the  roadside, 
The  wind  among  the  reeds, 
Whoever  hears  that  piping 
Must  follow  where  it  leads. 

Though  no  man  knows  the  reason, 
Nor  how  the  rumour  spread, 
Through  canyon-streeted  cities 
Her  message  has  been  sped ; 
And  some  forgotten  longing 
To  hear  a  bluebird  sing 
Bids  folk  from  open  windows 
Look  forth  —  and  It  Is  spring. 
6 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

Come  out  into  the  sunshine, 
You  dwellers  of  the  town, 
Put  by  your  anxious  dolors. 
And  cast  your  sorrows  down. 
O,  starved  and  pampered  people, 
How  futile  is  your  gain ! 
Behold,  there  comes  to  heal  you 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rain. 

Go  where  the  buds  are  breaking 
Upon  the  cherry  bough. 
And  the  strong  sap  is  mounting 
In  every  tree-trunk  now; 
Where  orchards  are  in   blossom 
On  every  spray  and  spire, 
Go  hear  the  orioles  whistle 
And  pass  like  flecks  of  fire. 

Go  find  the  first  arbutus 
Within  the  piney  wood, 
7 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

And  learn  from  that  shy  dweller 
How  sweet  is  solitude; 
Go  listen  to  the  white-throat 
In  some  remote  ravine 
Rehearse  in  tranquil  patience 
His  ecstasy  serene. 

Go  down  along  the  beaches 

And  borders  of  the  sea, 

When  golden  morning  kindles 

That  blue  immensity, 

And  watch  the  white  sails  settle 

Below  the  curving  rim 

Of  this  frail  vast  of  colour, 

Diaphanous  and  dim. 

Go  watch  by  brimming  river 
Or  reedy-marged  lagoon 
The  wild  geese  row  their  galley 
Across  the  rising  moon, 
8 


OUR      LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

That  comes  up  like  a  bubble 
Out  of  the  black  fir-trees, 
And  ask  what  mind  invented 
Such  miracles  as  these. 

Who  came  when  we  were  sleeping 
And  wrought  this  deathless  lure, 
This  vivid  vernal  wonder 
Improbable  and  sure  ? 
Where  Algol   and   Bootes 
Mark  their  enormous  range, 
What  seraph  passed  in  power 
To  touch  the  world  with  change? 

What   love's  unerring  purpose 
Reveals  itself  anew 
In  these  mysterious  transports 
Of  tone  and  shape  and  hue? 
Doubt  not  the  selfsame  impulse 
Throbs  in  thy  restless  side, 
9 


OUR      LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

Craves  at  the  gates  of  being, 
And  would  not  be  denied. 

Be  thou  the  west  wind's  brother, 
And  kin  to  bird  and  tree, 
The  soul  of  spring  may  utter 
Her  oracles  to  thee; 
Her  breath  shall  give  thee  courage, 
Her  tan  shall  touch  thy  cheek, 
The  words  of  sainted  lovers 
Be  given  thee  to  speak. 

Fear  not  the  mighty  instinct. 
The  great  April  Ian  Creed ; 
The  House  of  Spring  Is  open 
And  furnished  for  thy  need. 
But  fear  the  little  wisdom. 
The  paltry  doubt  and  vain. 
And  trust  without  misgiving 
Our  Lady  of  the  Rain, 
lo 


OUR     LADY     OF     THE     RAIN 

What  foot  would  fail  to  meet  her, 
And  who  would  stay  indoor, 
When  April  in  her  glory 
Comes  triumphing  once  more  — 
When  adder-tongue  and  tulip 
Put  on  their  coats  of  gold, 
And  all  the  world  goes  love-mad 
For  beauty  as  of  old  ? 

At  every  year's  returning 

The  swallows  will  be  here. 

The  stalls  be  gay  with  jonquils, 

The  dogwood  reappear; 

And  up  from  the  southwestward 

Come  back  to  us  again 

With  sorceries  of  gladness  — 

Our  Lady  of  the  Rain. 


II 


IN  A  GRAND   PRE  GARDEN. 

In  a  garden  over  Grand  Pre,  dewy  in  the  morning 

sun, 
Here    in    earliest    September   with    the    summer 

nearly  done. 
Musing  on  the  lovely  world  and  all  its  beauties, 

one  by  one ! 

Bluets,    marigolds,    and    asters,    scarlet    poppies, 

purple  phlox,  — 
Who  knows  where  the  key  is  hidden  to  those  frail 

yet  perfect  locks 
In  the  tacit  doors  of  being  where  the  soul  stands 

still  and  knocks? 


IN    A    GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

There  is  Blomidon's  blue  sea-wall,  set  to  guard 

the  turbid  straits 
Where   the  racing  tides   have   entry;    but  who 

keeps  for  us  the  gates 
In  the  mighty  range  of  silence  where  man's  spirit 

calls  and  waits? 

Where  is  Glooscaap?     There's  a  legend  of  that 

saviour  of  the  West, 
The  benign  one,  whose  all-wisdom  loved  beasts 

well,  though  men  the  best, 
Whom  the  tribes  of  Minas  leaned  on,  and  their 

villages  had  rest. 

Once  the  lodges  were  defenceless,  all  the  warriors 

being  gone 
On  a  hunting  or  adventure.     Like  a  panther  on 

a  fawn, 
On  the  helpless  stole  a  war-band,  ambushed  to 

attack  at  dawn. 

13 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

But  with  night  came  Glooscaap.  Sleeping  he  sur- 
prised them ;    waved  his  bow ; 

Through  the  summer  leaves  descended  a  great 
frost,  as  white  as  snow; 

Sealed  their  slumber  to  eternal  peace  and  stillness 
long  ago. 

Then  a  miracle.  Among  them,  while  still  death 
undid  their  thews, 

Slept  a  captive  with  her  children.  Such  the 
magic  he  could  use. 

She  arose  unharmed  with  morning,  and  depart- 
ing,  told  the  news. 

He,  too,  when  the  mighty  Beaver  had  the  country 

for  his  pond. 
All  the  way  from  the  Pereau  here  to  Bass  River 

and  beyond. 
Stoned  the  rascal ;   drained  the  Basin;   routed  out 

that  vagabond. 

14 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

You  can  see  yourself  Five  Islands  Glooscaap 
flung  at  him  that  day, 

When  from  Blomidon  to  Sharp  he  tore  the  Bea- 
ver's  dam   away,  — 

Cleared  the  channel,  and  the  waters  thundered 
out  into  the  bay. 

(Do  we  idle,  little  children?  Ah,  well,  there  is 
hope,   maybe. 

In  mere  beauty  which  enraptures  just  such  ne'er- 
do-wells  as  we! 

I  must  go  and  pick  my  apples.  Malyn  will  be 
calling   me!) 

Here  he  left  us  —  see  the  orchards,  red  and  gold 

in  every  tree ! — 
All  the  land  from  Gaspereau  to  Portapique  and 

Cheverie, 
All  the  garden  lands  of  Minas  and  a  passage 

out  to  sea. 

15 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

You  can  watch  the  white-sailed  vessels  through 

the  meadows  wind  and  creep. 
All  day  long  the  pleasant  sunshine,  and  at  night 

the  starry  sleep, 
While  the  labouring  tides  that  rest  not  have  their 

business  with  the  deep! 

So  I  get  my  myth  and  legend  of  a  breaker-down 

of  bars, 
Putting   gateways   in   the  mountains  with   their 

thousand-year-old  scars, 
That  the  daring  and  the  dauntless  might  steer 

outward  by  the  stars. 

So  my  demiurgic  hero  lays  a  frost  on  all  our 

fears. 
Dead   the   grisly  superstition,    dead   the   bigotry 

of  years, 
Dead  the  tales  that  frighten  children,  when  the 

pure  white  light  appears. 
i6 


IN     A     GRAND      PRE     GARDEN 

Thus  did  Glooscaap  of  the  mountains.     What 

doth  Balder  of  the  flowers, 
Balder,  the  white  lord  of  April,  who  comes  back 

amid  the  showers 
And    the   sunshine   to   the   Northland   to   revive 

this  earth  of  ours? 

First,  how  came  my  garden,  where  untimely  not 

a  leaf  may  wilt? 
For  a  thousand  years  the  currents  trenched  the 

rock  and  wheeled  the  silt, 
Dredged  and  filled  and  smoothed  and  levelled, 

toiling  that  it  might  be  built. 

For  the  moon  pulled  and  the  sun  pushed  on  the 
derrick  of  the  tide; 

And  a  great  wind  heaved  and  blustered,  —  swung 
the  weight  round  with  a  stride. 

Mining  tons  of  red  detritus  out  of  the  old  moun- 
tain side,  — 

17 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

Bore  them  down  and  laid  them  even  by  the  mouth 

of  stream  and  rill 
For  the  quiet  lowly  doorstep,  for  cemented  joist 

and  sill 
Of  our  Grand  Pre,  where  the  cattle  lead  their 

shadows  or  lie  still. 

So  my  garden  floor  was  founded  by  the  labour- 
ing frugal  sea, 

Deep  and  virginal  as  Eden,  for  the  flowers  that 
were  to  be, 

All  for  my  great  drowsy  poppies  and  my  mari- 
golds  and   me. 

Who  had  guessed  the  unsubstantial  end  and  out- 
come of  such  toil,  — 

These,  the  children  of  a  summer,  whom  a  breath 
of  frost  would   foil, 

I,  almost  as  faint  and  fleeting  as  my  brothers  of 
the  soil? 

i8 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

Did   those  vague   and   drafty  sea-tides,   as   they 

journeyed,  feel  the  surge 
Of  the  prisoned  life  that  filled  them  seven  times 

full  from  verge  to  verge, 
Mounting   to   some   far   achievement  where   its 

ardour  might  emerge? 

Are  they  blinder  of  a  purpose  in  their  courses 

fixed  and  sure, 
Those  sea  arteries  whose  heavings  throb  through 

Nature's  vestiture, 
Than  my  heart's  frail  valves  and  hinges  which 

so  perilously  endure? 

Do  I  say  to  it,  "  Give  over!  "  —  Can  I  will,  and 
it  will  cease? 

Nay,  it  stops  but  with  destruction ;  knows  no  res- 
pite nor  release. 

I,  who  did  not  start  its  pulses,  cannot  bid  them 
be  at  peace. 

19 


IN     A     GRAND      PRE     GARDEN 

Thus  the  great  deep,  framed  and  fashioned  to 
a  thought  beyond  its  own, 

Rocked  by  tides  that  race  or  sleep  without  its 
will  from  zone  to  zone, 

Setting  door-stones  for  a  people  in  a  century  un- 
known, 

Sifted  for  me  and  my  poppies  the  red  earth  we 

love  so  well. 
Gently  there,  my  fine  logician,  brooding  in  your 

lone  grey  cell! 
Was  it  all  for  our  contentment  such  a  miracle 

befell? 

No;  because  my  drowsy  poppies  and  my  marl- 
golds  and  I 

Have  this  human  need  in  common,  nodding  as 
the  wind  goes  by ; 

There  is  that  supreme  within  us  no  one  life  can 
satisfy. 

20 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

With  their  innocent  grave  faces  lifted  up  to  meet 
my  own, 

They  are  but  the  stranger  people,  swarthy  chil- 
dren of  the  sun, 

Gypsies  tenting  at  our  door  to  vanish  ere  the 
year  is  done. 

(How  we  idle  J  little  children!  Still  our  best  of 
tasks  may  be. 

From  distraction  and  from  discord  without  base- 
ness to  get  free. 

I  must  go  and  pick  my  apples.  Malyn  will  be 
calling  me!) 

Humbly,  then,  most  humbly  ever,  little  brothers 

of  the  grass. 
With  Aloha  at  your  doorways  I  salute  you  as 

you  pass, 
I  who  wear  the  mortal  vesture,  as  our  custom 

ever  was. 

21 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

Known  for  kindred  by  the  habit,  by  the  tanned 

and  crimson  stain, 
Earthlings  in  the  garb  ensanguined  just  so  long 

as  we  remain, 
You  for  days  and  I  for  seasons  mystics  by  the 

common   strain, 

Till  we  tread  the  virgin  threshold  of  a  great  moon 

red  and  low, 
Clean  and  joyous  while  we  tarry,  and  uncraven 

when  we  go 
From    the    rooftree   of    the    rain-wind    and    the 

broad  eaves  of  the  snow. 

And  this  thing  called  life,  which  frets  us  like  a 

fever  without  name, 
Soul  of  man  and  seed  of  poppy  no  mortality  can 

tame, 
Smouldering  at  the  core  of  beauty  till  it  breaks  in 

perfect  flame,  — 

22 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

What  it  is  I  know  not;  only  I  know  they  and 
I  are  one, 

By  the  lure  that  bids  us  linger  in  the  great  House 
of  the  Sun, 

By  the  fervour  that  sustains  us  at  the  door  we  can- 
not shun. 

From  a  little  wider  prospect,  I  survey  their  bright 
domain ; 

On  a  rounder  dim  horizon,  I  behold  the  plough- 
man rain; 

All  I  have  and  hold  so  lightly,  they  will  perish  to 
attain. 

Waking  at  the  word  of  April  with  the  South 

Wind  at  her  heels, 
We  await  the  revelation  locked  beneath  the  four 

great  seals, 
Ice  and  snow  and  dark  and  silence,  where  the 

Northern  search-light  wheels. 
23 


IN     A     GRAND      PRE     GARDEN 

Waiting  till  our  Brother  Balder  walks  the  lovely 

earth  once  more, 
With  the  robin  in  the  fir-top,  with  the  rain-wind 

at  the  door, 
With  the  old  unwearied  gladness  to  revive  us  and 

restore, 

We  abide  the  raptured  moment,  with  the  patience 

of  a  stone, 
Like  ephemera  our  kindred,  transmigrant  from 

zone  to  zone. 
To  that  last  fine  state  of  being  where  they  live 

on  joy  alone. 

O    great   Glooscaap   and    kind    Balder,   born   of 

human  heart's  desire, 
When  earth's  need  took  shape  and  substance,  and 

the  impulse  to  aspire 
Passed  among  the  new-made  peoples,  touching  the 

red  clay  with  fire, 

24  . 


IN     A     GRAND     PRE     GARDEN 

By  the  myth  and  might  of  beauty,  lead  us  and 

allure  us  still, 
Past   the   open    door   of   wonder   and   oblivion's 

granite  sill, 
Past  the  curtain  of  the  sunset  in  the  portals  of  the 

hill, 

To  new  provinces  of  wisdom,  sailless  latitudes  of 

soul. 
I  for  one  must  keep  the  splendid  faith  in  good 

your  lives  extol, 
Well  assured  the  love  you  lived  by  is  my  being's 

source  and  goal. 

Fearless  when  the  will  bids  "  Venture,"  or  the 

sleepless  mind  bids  "  Know," 
Here  among  my  lowly  neighbours  blameless  let 

me  come  and  go. 
Till   I,   too,   receive  the  summons  to  the  silent 

Tents  of  Snow. 

25 


IN     A     GRAND      PRE     GARDEN 

In  a  garden  over  Grand  Pre,  bathed  in  the  seren- 
ity 

Of  the  early  autumn  sunlight,  came  these  quiet 

thoughts  to  me. 
While  the  wind  went  down  the  orchard  to  the 

dikes  and  out  to  sea. 

(Idling  yet?    My  flowery  children,  only  far  too 

well  I  see 
How  this  day  will  glow  forever  in  my  life  that 

is  to  be! 
I  must  go  and  pick  my  apples.     There  is  Malyn 

calling  me!) 


26 


THE    KEEPERS    OF   SILENCE 

My  hillside  garden  half-way  up 
The  mountains  from  the  purple  sea, 
Beholds  the  pomp  of  days  go  by 
In  summer's  gorgeous  pageantry. 

I  watch  the  shadows  of  the  clouds 
Stream  over  Grand  Pre  in  the  sun, 
And  the  white  fog  seethe  up  and  spill 
Over  the  rim  of  Blomidon. 

For  past  the  mountains  to  the  North, 
Like  a  great  caldron  of  the  tides, 
Is  Fundy,  boiling  round  their  base. 
And  ever  fuming  up  their  sides. 
27 


THE     KEEPERS     OF     SILENCE 

Yet  here  within  my  valley  world 
No  breath  of  all  that  tumult  stirs; 
The  little  orchards  sleep  in  peace; 
Forever  dream  the  dark  blue  firs. 

And  while  far  up  the  gorges  sweep 
The  silver  legions  of  the  showers, 
I  have  communion  with  the  grass 
And  conversation  with  the  flowers. 

More  wonderful  than  human  speech 
Their  dialect  of  silence  is, 
The  simple  Dorian  of  the  fields, 
So  full  of  homely  subtleties. 

When  the  dark  pansies  nod  to  say 
Good  morning  to  the  marigolds. 
Their  velvet  taciturnity 
Reveals  as  much  as  it  withholds. 


28 


THE     KEEPERS     OF     SILENCE 

I  always  half  expect  to  hear 
Some  hint  of  what  they  mean  to  do ; 
But  never  is  their  fine  reserve 
Betrayed  beyond  a  smile  or  two. 

Yet  very  well  at  times  I  seem 
To  understand   their   reticence, 
And  so,  long  since,  I  came  to  love 
My  little  brothers  by  the  fence. 

Perhaps  some  August  afternoon, 
When  earth  is  only  half-aware, 
They  will  unlock  their  heart  for  once, 
How  sad  if  I  should  not  be  there! 


29 


AT    HOME   AND   ABROAD. 

My  modest  Northern  garden 
Is  full  of  yellow  flowers, 
And  quaking  leaves  and  sunlight 
And  long  noon  hours. 

It  hangs  upon  the  hillside 
Above  the  little  town; 
And  there  in  pleasant  weather 
You  can  look  far  down, 

To  the  broad  dikes  of  Grand  Pre 
Roamed  over  by  the  herds. 
And  the  purple  Minas  water 
Where  fish  the  white  sea-birds. 


30 


AT      HOME     AND     ABROAD 

I    watch   the   little  vessels, 
Where  the  slow  rivers  glide 
Between  the  grassy  orchards.. 
Come  in  upon  the  tide. 

For  daily  there  accomplished 
Is  the  sea's  legerdemain. 
To  fill  the  land  with  rivers 
And  empty  it  again. 

Before  you  lies  North  Mountain, 
Built  like  a  long  sea-wall  — 
A  wonder  in  blue  summer 
And  in  the  crimson  fall. 

The  sea-fogs  cloud  and  mantle 
Along  its  fir-dark  crest, 
While  under  it  the  fruit-lands 
Have  shelter  and  have  rest. 


31 


AT     HOME     AND     ABROAD 

And  when  the  goblin  moonlight 
Loiters  upon  her  round 
Of  valley,  marsh  and  mountain 
To  bless  my  garden-ground,  — 

(The  harvest  moon  that  lingers 
Until  her  task  is  done, 
And  all  the  grain  is  ripened 
For  her  great  lord,  the  sun,) 

I  know  that  there  due  northward, 
Under  the   polar  star. 
Sir  Blomidon  is  fronting 
Whatever  storms  there  are. 

I  cannot  see  those  features 
I  love  so  well  by  day. 
Calmed  by  a  thousand  summers, 
Scarred  by  the  winter's  play; 


32 


AT     HOME     AND     ABROAD 

Yet  there  above  the  battle 
Of  the  relentless  tides, 
Under  the  solemn  starlight 
He  muses  and  abides. 

And  in  the  magic  stillness, 
The  moonlight's  ghostly  gleam 
Makes  me  its  sylvan  brother. 
To  rove  the  world  a-dream. 

That  wayward  and  oblivious 
Mortal  I  seem  to  be 
Shall  habit  not  forever 
This  garden  by  the  sea. 

Not  Blomidon  nor  Grand  Pre 
Shall  be  his  lasting  home, 
Nor  all  the  Ardise  country 
Give  room  enough  to  roam. 


i^ 


AT     HOME     AND     ABROAD 

Even  to-night  a  little 
He  strays,  and  will  not  bide 
The  gossip  of  the  flowers, 
The  rumour  of  the  tide. 

He  must  be  forth  and  seeking, 
Beyond   this  garden-ground, 
The    arm-in-arm    companion 
For  whom  the  sun  goes  round. 

And  in  the  soft  May  weather 
I  walk  with  you  again, 
Where  the  terraces  of  Aleudon 
Look  down  upon  the  Seine. 


44 


KILLOOLEET. 

There's  a  wonderful  woodland  singer 
In  the  North,  called  Killooleet,  — 
That  is  to  say  Little  Sweetvoice 
In  the  tongue  of  the  Milicete, 

The  tribe  of  the  upper  Wolaastook, 
Who  range  that  waterway 
From  the  blue  fir  hills  of  its  sources 
To  the  fogs  and  tides  of  the  bay. 

All  day  long  in  the  sunshine, 
All  night  long  through  the  rains, 
On  the  grey  wet  cedar  barrens 
And  the  lonely  blueberry  plains, 


35 


KILLOOLEET 


You  may  hear  Killooleet  singing, 

Hear  his  O  sweet 

(Then  a  grace-note,  then  the  full  cadence), 

Killooleet,  Killooleet,  Killooleet! 

Whenever  you  dip  a  paddle, 
Or  set  a  pole  in  the  stream, 
Killooleet  marks  the  ripple, 
Killooleet  knows  the  gleam; 

Killooleet  gives  you  welcome, 
Killooleet  makes  you  free 
With  the  great  sweet  wilderness  freedom 
That  holds  over  land  and  sea. 

You  may  slide  your  birch  through  the  alders, 
Or  camp  where  the  rapids  brawl, 
The  first  glad  forest  greeting 
Will  still  be  Killooleet's  call. 


36 


KILLOOLEET 


Wherever  you  drive  a  tent-pin, 
Or  kindle  a  fire  at  night, 
Killooleet  comes  to  the  ridge-pole, 
Killooleet  answers  the  light. 

The  dark  may  silence  the  warblers; 
The  heavy  and  thunderous  hush 
That  comes  before  storm  may  stifle 
The  pure  cool  notes  of  the  thrush; 

The  waning  season  may  sober 
Bobolink,  bluebird,  and  quail ; 
But  Killooleet's  stainless  transport 
Will  not  diminish  nor  fail. 

Henceforth  you  shall  love  and  fear  not. 
Remembering  Killooleet's  song 
Haunting  the  wild  waste  places. 
Deliberate,  tranquil,  and  strong; 

37 


KILLOOLEET 


And  so  you  shall  come  without  cunning, 
But  wise  in  the  simpler  lore, 
To  the  House  of  the  Little  Brothers, 
And  God  will  open  the  door. 


38 


ST.   BARTHOLOMEW'S    ON 
THE   HILL. 

"  Bartholomew  with  his  cold  dew." 

Bartholomew,  my  brother, 
I  like  your  roomy  church ; 
I    like  your  way  of   leaving 
No  sinners  in  the  lurch. 

I  wish  the  world  were  wealthy 
In  ministers  like  you. 
When   at   the   lovely   August 
You  give  the  blessed  dew. 

I  love  your   rambling  Abbey, 
So  long  ago  begun. 
Whose  choirs  are  in  the  tree-tops, 
Whose  censer  is  the  sun. 
39 


ST.    BARTHOLOMEW     S     ON     THE     HILL 

Its  windows  are  the  morning ; 
Its  rafters  are  the  stars; 
The  fog-banks  float  like  incense 
Up  from  its  purple  floors. 

And  where  the  ruddy  apples 
Make  lamps  in  the  green  gloom, 
The  flowers  in  congregation 
Are  never  pressed  for  room ; 

But  in  your  hillside  chapel, 
Gay  with  its  gorgeous  paints. 
They  bow  before  the  Presence, — 
Sweet  merry  little  saints! 


40 


THE    CHURCH    OF    THE 
LEAVES. 

In  French  Canadian  legendry, 
A  rising  from  the  dead  recurs 
Each   Christmastide.     The  old   cure. 
With  his  parishioners 

Around  him,  in  the  night  returns; 
And  while  his  voice  renews  its  bond 
In  the  beloved  offices, 
The  ghostly  flock  respond. 

Just  so,  we  keep  the  forms  of  faith 
That  wrought  and  moved  us  long  ago; 
We  mark  the  height  man's  soul  attained, 
Forgetting  it  must  grow. 
41 


THE     CHURCH     OF     THE     LEAVES 

Those  venerable  outgrown   shells 
Wherefrom  the  radiant  life  is  fled,  — 
We  wrong  with  our  idolatry 
The  dogmas  of  the  dead. 

But  He  who  walked  with  the  world-soul 
At  twilight  in  Gethsemane, 
Breathing  among  the  listening  boughs 
Sweet  prayers  of  charity, 

Must  daily  with  the  wind  return 
About  the  dim  world,  to  renew 
The  trembling  litanies  of  the  leaves, 
The  blessings  of  the  dew. 

He  must  revive  with  wind-sweet  voice 
The  gospel  hardly  known  to  flesh, 
Till  the  same  spirit  speaks  again. 
Interpreting  afresh; 


42 


THE     CHURCH     OF     THE     LEAVES 

Till  the  vast  house  of  trees  and  air 
Reverberates  from  roof  to  floor 
With  meanings  of  mysterious  things 
We  need  to  ask  no  more. 

For  still  He  w^alks  these  shadowy  aisles, 
Dreaming  of  beauties  still  to  be, 
More  manly  than  our  manliest, 
Whose  thought  and  love  were  free. 

The  pines  are  all  His  organ  pipes, 
And  the  great  rivers  are  His  choir; 
And  creatures  of  the  field  and  tide 
That  reck  not,  yet  aspire, 

Our  brothers  of  the  tardy  hope, 
Put  forth  their  strength  in  senses  dim, 
Threading  the  vast,  they  know  not  why, 
Through  eons  up  to  Him. 


43 


THE     CHURCH     OF     THE     LEAVES 

I  see  Him  in  the  orchard  glooms, 
Watching  the  russet  apples  tan, 
With  the  serene  regard  of  one 
Who  is  more  God  than  man. 

And  where  the  silent  valley  leads 
The  small  white  water  through  the  hills, 
And  the  black  spruces  stand  unmoved, 
And  quiet  sunlight  fills 

The  world  and  time  with  large  slow  peace, 
It  is  His  patience  waiting  there 
Response  from  lives  whose  breath  is  but 
The  echo  of  His  prayer. 

Brother  of  Nazareth,  behold, 
We,  too,  perceive  this  life  expand 
Beyond  the  daily  need,  for  use 
Thy  thought  must  understand. 


44 


THE     CHURCH     OF     THE     LEAVES 

Not  for  ourselves  alone  we  strive, 
Since  Thy  perfection  manifest 
Bids  self  resign  what  self  desired, 
Postponing  good  for  best. 

And  in  the  far  unfretted  years, 
The  generations  we  uphold 
Shall  reach  the  measure  of  Thy  heart, 
The  stature  of  Thy  mould. 


45 


THE    DEEP    HOLLOW    ROAD. 

Cool  in  the  summer  mountain's  heart, 
It  lies  in  dim  mysterious  shade, 
Left  of  the  highway  turning  in 
With  grassy  rut  and  easy  grade. 

The  marshes  and  the  sea  behind, 
The  solemn  fir-blue  hills  before; 
Here  is  the  inn  for  Heavy-heart 
And  this  is  weary  Free-foot's  door. 

O  fellows,  I  have  known  it  long; 
For  joy  of  life  turn  in  with  me ; 
We  bivouac  with  peace  to-night, 
And  good-bye  to  the  brawling  sea. 


46 


THE     DEEP     HOLLOW     ROAD 

You  hear?    That's  master  thrush.     He  knows 
The  voluntaries  fit  for  June, 
And  when  to  falter  on  the  flute 
In  the  satiety  of  noon. 

A  mile  or  two  we  follow  in 
This  rosy  streak  through  forest  gloom, 
Then  for  the  ample  orchard  slopes 
And  all  the  earth  one  snowy  bloom! 


47 


MALYN'S    DAISY. 

You  know  it.     Rays  of  ashy  blue 
Around   a  centre  small   and   golden, 
An  autumn  face  of  cheery  hue 
And  fashion  olden. 

When  the  year  rests  at  Michaelmas 
Before  the  leaves  must  vanish  faster, 
The  country  people  see  it  pass 
And  call  it  aster. 

It  does  not  come  with  joy  and  June; 
It  knows  God's  time  is  sometimes  tardy ; 
And  waits  until  we  need  the  boon 
Of  spirit  hardy. 


48 


MALYNS      DAISY 


So  unobtrusive,  yet  so  fair, 
About  a  world  it  makes  so  human, 
Its  touch  of  grace  is  everywhere  — 
Just  like  a  woman. 

Along  the  road  and  up  the  dike 
It  wanders  when  the  noons  are  hazy, 
To  tell  us  what  content  is  like; 
That's  Malyn's  daisy. 


49 


ABOVE    THE    GASPEREAU. 

TO  H.  E.  C. 

There  are  sunflowers  too  in  my  garden  on  top 
of  the  hill, 

Where  now  in  early  September  the  sun  has  his 
will,  — 

The  slow  autumn  sun  that  goes  leisurely,  taking 
his  fill 

Of  life  in  the  orchards  and  fir  woods  so  moveless 
and  still; 

As  if,  should  they  stir,  they  might  break  some  illu- 
sion and  spill 

The  store  of  their  long  summer  musing  on  top  of 
the  hill. 


.10 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

The  crowds  of  black  spruces  in  tiers  from  the  val- 
ley below, 

Ranged  round  their  sky-roofed  coliseum,  mount 
row  after  row. 

Kow  often  there,  rank  above  rank,  they  have 
watched  for  the  slow 

Silver-lanterned  processions  of  twilight,  —  the 
moon's  come  and  go! 

How  often  as  if  they  expected  some  bugle  to 
blow, 

Announcing  a  bringer  of  news  they  were  breath- 
less to  know. 

They  have  hushed  every  leaf,  —  to  hear  only  the 
murmurous  flow 

Of  the  small  mountain  river  sent  up  from  the 
valley  below! 

How  still  through  the  sweet  summer  sun,  through 
the  soft  summer  rain. 


SI 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

They  have  stood  there  awaiting  the  summons 
should  bid  them  attain 

The  freedom  of  knowledge,  the  last  touch  of 
truth  to  explain 

The  great  golden  gist  of  their  brooding,  the  mar- 
vellous train 

Of  thought  they  have  followed  so  far,  been  so 
strong  to  sustain, — 

The  bright  gospel  of  sun  and  the  pure  revelations 
of  rain! 

Then  the  orchards  that  dot,  all  in  order,  the  green 

valley  floor. 
Every  tree  with  its  boughs  weighed  to  earth,  like 

a  tent  from  whose  door 
Not  a  lodger  looks  forth,  —  yet  the  signs  are  there 

gay  and  galore, 
The  great  ropes  of  red  fruitage  and  russet,  crisp 

snow  to  the  core. 


52 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Can  the  dark-eyed  Romany  here  have  deserted 

of  yore 
Their  camp  at  the  coming  of  frost?     Will  they 

seek  it  no  more? 
Who    dwells    in    St.    Eulalie's    village?      Who 

knows  the  fine  lore 
Of  the  tribes  of  the  apple-trees  there  on  the  green 

valley  floor? 

Who,  indeed?     From  the  blue  mountain  gorge 

to  the  dikes  by  the  sea, 
Goes  that  stilly  wanderer,  small  Gaspereau ;  who 

but  he 
Should  give  the  last  hint  of  perfection,  the  touch 

that  sets  free 
From  the  taut  string  of  silence  the  whisper  of 

beauties  to  be! 
The  very  sun  seems  to  have  tarried,  turned  back 

a  degree, 


53 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

To  lengthen  out  noon  for  the  apple-folk  here  by 
the  sea. 

What  is  it  ?    WTio  comes  ?    What's  abroad  on  the 

blue  mountainside? 
A  hush  has  been  laid  on  the  leaves  and  will  not 

be  defied. 
Is  the  great  Scarlet  Hunter  at  last  setting  out  on 

his  ride 
From  the  North  with  deliverance  now?     Were 

the  lights  we  descried 
Last  night  in  the  heavens  his  camp-fires  seen  far 

and  wide, 
The  white  signal  of  peace  for  whose  coming  the 

ages  have  cried  ? 
"  Expectancy  lingers;     fulfilment  postponed,"   I 

replied, 
When  soul  said  uneasily,  "  Who  is  it  haunts  your 

hillside?" 


54 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

All  the  while  not  a  word  from  my  sunflowers 

here  on  the  hill. 
And    to-night    when    the    stars    over    Blomidon 

flower  and  fill 
The  blue  Northern  garden  of  heaven,  so  pale  and 

so  still, 
From  the  lordly  king-aster  Aldebaran  there  by 

the  sill 
Of  the  East,  where  the  moonlight  will  enter,  not 

one  will  fulfil 
A  lordlier  lot  than  my  sunflowers  here  on  the 

hill. 

So  much   for  mere   fact,   mere  impression.      So 

much  I  portray 
Of    the    atmosphere,    colour,    illusion    of    one 

autumn  day, 
In  the  little  Acadian  village  above  the  Grand 

Pre; 


55 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Just  the  quiet  of  orchards  and  firs,  where  the 

sun  had  full  sway, 
And  the  river  went  trolling  his  soft  wander-song 

to  the  bay, 
While  roseberry,  aster,  and  sagaban  tangled  his 

way. 
Be  you  their  interpreter,  reasoner ;   tell  what  they 

say, 
These  children  of  silence  whose  patient  regard 

I  portray. 

You  Londoner,  walking  in  Bishopsgate,  stroll- 
ing the  Strand, 

Some  morning  in  autumn  afford,  at  a  fruit- 
dealer's  stand. 

The  leisure  to  look  at  his  apples  there  ruddy  and 
tanned. 

Then  ask,  when  he's  smiling  to  serve  j'^ou,  if 
choice  can  command 


S6 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

A  Gravenstein  grown  oversea  on  Canadian  land. 
(And  just  for  the  whim's  sake,  for  once,  you'll 

have  no  other  brand!) 
How   teach  you   to  tell   them?     Pick  one,   and 

with    that    in   your    hand, 
Bethink  you  awhile  as  you  turn  again  into  the 

Strand. 

"  What  if,"  you  will  say,  —  so  smooth  in  your 

hand  it  will  lie, 
So  round  and  so  firm,  of  so  rich  a  red  to  the  eye. 
Like  a  dash  of  Fortuny,  a  tinge  of  some  Indian 

dye, 
While  you  turn  it  and  toss,  mark  the  bloom,  ere 

you  taste  it  and  try,  — 
"  Now  what  if  this  grew  where  the  same  bright 

pavilion  of  sky 
Is  stretched  o'er  the  valley  and  hillside  he  bids 

me  descry. 


57 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

The  windless  valley  of  peace,  where  the  seasons 

go  by, 
And  the  river  goes  down  through  the  orchards 

where  long  shadows  lie!  " 

There's  the  fruit  in  your  hand,  in  your  ears  is 
the  roar  of  the  street, 

The  pulse  of  an  empire  keeping  its  volume  and 
beat, 

Its  sure  come  and  go  day  and  night,  while  we 
sleep  or  we  eat. 

Taste  the  apple,  bite  in  to  the  juice;  how  abun- 
dant and  sweet ! 

As  sound  as  your  own  English  heart,  and  whole- 
some as  wheat. 

There  grow  no  such  apples  as  that  in  your 
Bishopsgate  street. 

Or  perhaps  In  St.  Helen's  Place,  when  your 
business  is  done 

58 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

And  the  ledgers  put  by,  you  will  think  of  the 

hundred   and   one 
Commissions  and  errands  to  do ;   but  what  under 

the  sun 
Was   that,   so   important?     Ah,   yes!     the   nev/ 

books   overrun 
The  old  shelves.     It  is  high  time  to  order  a  new 

set  begun. 
Then  off  to  the  joiner's.     You  enter  to  see  his 

plane  run 
With  a  long  high  shriek  through  the  lumber  he's 

working  upon. 
Then  he  turns  from  his  shavings  to  query  what 

you  would  have  done. 

But  homeward  'tis  you  who  make  question.    That 

song  of  the  blade! 
And  the  sharp  sweet  cry  of  the  wood,  what  an 

answer  it  made! 


59 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

What  stories  the  joiner  must  hear,  as  he  plies 
his  clean  trade, 

Of  all  the  wild  life  of  the  forest  where  long 
shadows  wade 

The  untrodden  moss,  and  the  firs  send  a  journey- 
ing shade 

So  slow  through  the  valley  so  far  from  the  song 
of  his  blade. 

Come  back  to  my  orchards  a  moment.     They're 

waiting  for  you. 
How  still  are   the  little   grey  leaves  where  the 

pippins  peep  through! 
The   boughs   where   the   ribstons   hang   red    are 

half-breaking  in  two. 
Above  them  September  in  magical  soft  Northern 

blue 
Has  woven  the  spell  of  her  silence,  like  frost  or 

like  dew, 


60 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Yet  warm  as  a  poppy's  red  dream.  When  All 
Saints  shall  renew 

The  beauty  of  summer  awhile,  will  their  dream- 
ing come  true? 

Ah,  not  of  my  Grand  Pre  they  dream,  nor  your 
London  and  you ! 

Their  life  is  their  own,  and  the  surge  of  it.     All 

through   the  spring 
They  pushed  forth  their  buds,  and  the  rainbirds 

at  twilight  would  sing. 
They  put  forth  their  bloom,  and  the  world  was  as 

fairy  a  thing 
As  a  Japanese  garden.     Then  midsummer  came 

with  a  zing 
And  the  clack  of  the  locust;    then  fruit-time  and 

coolness,  to  bring 
This  aftermath  deep  underfoot  with  its  velvety 

spring. 


6i 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

And    they    all    the    while    with    the    fatherly, 

motherly  care, 
Taking  sap   from   the  strength  of  the   ground, 

taking  sun  from  the  air, 
Taking  chance  of  the  frost  and  the  worm,  taking 

courage  to  dare. 
Have    given    their   life    that    the    life    might   be 

goodly  and  fair 
In    their    kind    for    the   seasons    to   come,    with 

good  witness  to  bear 
How   the  sturdy  old   race  of  the   apples  could 

give  and  not  spare. 
To-morrow  the  harvest  begins.     We  shall  rifle 

them  there 
Of  the  beautiful  fruit  of  their  bodies,  the  crown 

of  their  care. 

How  lovingly  then  shall  the  picker  set  hand  to 
the  bough ! — 


62 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Bid  it  yield,  ere  the  seed  come  to  earth  or  the 

graft  to  the  plough, 
Not  only  sweet  life  for  its  kind,  as  the  instincts 

allow, 
That  savour  and  shape  may  survive  generations 

from  now. 
But  life  to  its  kin  who  can  say,  "  I  am  stronger 

than  thou,"  — 
Fulfilling  a  lordlier   law   than   the  law   of   the 

bough. 

I  heard  before  dawn,  with  planets  beginning  to 

quail,  — 
"  Whoso  hath  life,  let  him  give,  that  my  purpose 

prevail : 
Whoso  hath  none,  let  him  take,  that  his  strength 

may  be  hale. 
Behold,   I  have  reckoned   the  tally,   I  keep  the 

full  tale. 


63 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Whoso  hath   love,   let   him   give,   lest  his  spirit 

grovi^  stale; 
Whoso  hath  none,  let  him  die;   he  shall  wither 

and  fail. 
Behold  I  will  plenish  the  loss  at  the  turn  of  the 

scale. 
He  hath  law  to  himself,  who  hath  love ;  ye  shall 

hope  and  not  quail." 

Then  the  sun  arose,  and  my  sunflowers  here  on 
the  hill, 

In  free  ceremonial  turned  to  the  East  to  fulfil 

Their  daily  observance,  receiving  his  peace  and 
his  will,  — 

The  lord  of  their  light  who  alone  bids  the  dark- 
ness be  nil, 

The  lord  of  their  love  who  alone  bids  the  life  in 
them  thrill; 

Undismayed  and  serene,  they  awaited  him  here 
on  the  hill. 

64 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Ah,  the  patience  of  earth!     Look  down  at  the 

dark  pointed  firs; 
They  are  carved  out  of  blackness;    one  pattern 

recurs  and  recurs. 
They   crowd    all    the    gullies    and    hillsides,    the 

gashes  and  spurs. 
As   silent   as   death.      What   an    image!      How 

nature  avers 
The  goodness  of  calm  with  that  taciturn  beauty 

of  hers! 
As  silent  as  sleep.     Yet  the  life  in  them  climbs 

and  upstirs. 
They   too   have    received    the   great   law,   know 

that  haste  but  defers 
The  perfection  of  time,  —  the  initiate  gospeller 

firs. 

So  year  after  year,   slow  ring  upon  ring,   they 
have  grown, 


65 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Putting    infinite    long-loving    care    into    leafage 

and  cone, 
By  the  old  ancient  craft  of  the  earth  they  have 

pondered  and  known 
In  the  dead  of  the  hot  summer  noons,  as  still 

as  a  stone. 
Not  for  them  the  gay  fruit  of  the  thorn,  nor  the 

high  scarlet  roan, 
Nor  the  plots  of  the  deep  orchard-land  where 

the  apples  are  grown. 

In  winter  the  wind,  all  huddled  and  shuddering, 

came 
To  warm  his  old  bones  by  the  fires  of  sunset 

aflame 
Behind  the  black  house  of  the  firs.     When  the 

moose-birds  grew  tame 
In    the   lumberer's   camps   In    the  woods,    what 

marvellous  fame 


66 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

His  talk  and  the  ice  of  his  touch  would  spread 

and  proclaim, 
Of  the  berg  and  the  floe  of  the  lands  without 

nation  or  name, 
Where  the  earth  and  the  sky,  night  and  noon, 

north  and  south  are  the  same. 
The  white  and  awful  Nirvana  of  cold  whence 

he  came! 

Then  April,  some  twilight  picked  out  with  a  great 

yellow  star, 
Returning,  like  Hylas  long  lost  and  come  back 

with  his  jar 
Of  sweet  living  water  at  last,  having  wandered 

so  far, 
Leads  the  heart  out-of-doors,  and  the  eye  to  the 

point  of  a  spar, 
At  whose  base  in  the  half-melted  snow  the  first 

Mayflowers   are,  — 


67 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

And  there  the  first  robin  is  pealing  below  the 
great  star. 

So  soon,   oversoon,   the   full  summer.     Within 

those  dark  boughs, 
Deliberate   and   far,   a  faltering  reed-note  will 

rouse 
The  shy  transports  of  earth,  till  the  wood-crea- 
tures hear  where  they  house. 
And  grow  bold  as  the  tremble-eared  rabbits  that 

nibble  and  mouse. 
While  up  through  the  pasture-lot,  startling  the 

sheep  as  they  browse, 
Where  kingbirds  and  warblers  are  piercing  the 

heat's  golden  drowse, 
Some  girl,  whom  the  sun  has  made  tawny,  the 

wind  had  to  blowse. 
Will   come   there   to    gentle   her  lover   beneath 

those  dark  boughs. 


68 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Then   out   of   the   hush,   when   the   grasses   are 

frosty  and  old, 
Will  the  chickadee's  tiny  alarm  against  winter 

be  rolled ; 
And  soon,  when  the  ledges  and  ponds  are  bitten 

with  cold, 
The  honk  of  the  geese,  that  wander-cry  stirring 

and  bold, 
Will  sound  through  the  night,  where  those  hardy 

mariners  hold 
The  uncharted   course   through   the   dark,   as   it 

is  from  of  old. 

Ah,  the  life  of  the  woods,  how  they  share  and 
partake  of  it  all. 

These  evergreens,  silent  as  Indians,  solemn  and 
tall! 

From  the  goldenwing's  first  far-heard  awaken- 
ing call, 


69 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

The  serene  flute  of  the  thrush  in  his  high  beech 
hall, 

And  the  pipe  of  the  frog,  to  the  bannered  ap- 
proach of  the  fall. 

And  the  sullen  wind,  when  snow  arrives  on  a 
squall. 

Trooping  in  all  night  from  the  North  with  news 
would  appal 

Any  outposts  but  these;  with  a  zest  they  partake 
of  it  all. 

Lo,   out  of  the  hush  they  seem   to  mount  and 

aspire ! 
From  basement  to  tip  they  have  builded,  with 

heed   to  go  higher, 
One  circlet  of  branches  a  j^ear  with  their  lift  of 

green    spire. 
Nay,   rather  they  seem   to  repose,   having  done 

with  desire, 


70 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Awaiting  the  frost,  with  the  fruit  scarlet-bright 

on  the  briar, 
Each   purpose   fulfilled,    each   ardour   that   bade 

them  aspire. 

Then  hate  be  afar  from  the  bite  of  the  axe  that 

shall  fell 
These  keepers  of  solitude,  makers  of  quiet,  who 

dwell 
On  the  slopes  of  the  North.     And  clean  be  the 

hand  that  shall  quell 
The  tread  of  the  sap  that  was  wont  to  go  mount- 
ing so  well, 
Round  on  round  with  the  sun  in  a  spiral,  slow 

cell  after  cell, 
As  a  bell-ringer  climbs  in  a  turret.    That  resinous 

smell 
From  the  eighth  angel's  hand  might  have  risen 

with  the  incense  to  swell 


7« 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

His  offering  in  heaven,  when  the  half-hour's  si- 
lence befell. 

Behold,  as  the  prayers  of  the  saints  that  w^ent 

up  to  God's  knees 
In  John's   Revelation,   the  silence   and   patience 

of  these 
Our  brothers  of  orchard  and  hill,  the  unhurry- 

ing  trees, 
To  better  the  burden  of  earth  till  the  dark  suns 

freeze. 
Shall   go   out   to   the   stars   with   the   sound   of 

Acadian  seas. 
And  the  scent  of  the  wood-flowers  blowing  about 

their  great  knees. 

To-night  when  Altair  and  Alshain  are  ruling 
the  West, 

Whence  Bootes  is  driving  his  dogs  to  long  hunt- 
ing addressed; 

72 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

With    Alioth    plumb    over    Blomidon    standing 

at  rest; 
When  Algol   is  leading  the  Pleiades  over   the 

crest 
Of  the  magical  East,   and  the  South  puts  Al- 

pherat  to  test 
With  Menkar  just  risen ;  will  come,  like  a  sigh 

from  Earth's  breast. 
The  first  sob  of  the  tide  turning  home,  —  one 

distraught  in  his  quest 
Forever,   and   calling   forever   the   wind   in    the 

west. 

And  to-night  there  will  answer  the  ghost  of  a 
sigh  on  the  hill, 

So  small  you  would  say.  Is  it  wind,  or  the  frost 
with  a  will 

Walking  down  through  the  woods,  who  to- 
morrow shall  show  us  his  skill 


73 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

In   yellows   and   reds?     So   noiseless,   it   hardly 

will  thrill 
The  timorous   aspens,   which  tremble  when   all 

else  is  still; 
Yet  the  orchards  will  know,  and  the  firs  aware 

on  the  hill. 

"  O  Night,  I  am  old,  I  endure.  Since  my  be- 
ing began, 

When  out  of  the  dark  the  aurora  spread  up  like 
a  fan, 

I  have  founded  the  lands  and  the  islands;  the 
hills  are  my  plan. 

I  have  covered  the  pits  of  the  earth  with  my 
bridge  of  one  span. 

From  the  Horn  to  Dunedin  unbroken  my  long 
rollers  ran, 

From  Pentland  and  Fastnet  and  Foyle  to  Bras 
d'Or  and  Manan, 


74 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

To  dredge  and  upbuild  for  the  creatures  of  tribe 

and  of  clan. 
Lo,  now  who  shall  end  the  contriving  my  fingers 

began  ?  " 

Then  the  little  wind  that  blows  from  the  great 

star-drift 
Will   answer,   "  Thou   tide   in   the   least  of   the 

planets  I  lift, 
Considers  the  journeys  of  light.    Are  thy  journey- 

ings  swift? 
Thy   sands   are   as   smoke    to    the   star-banks    I 

huddle  and  shift. 
Peace!     I  have  seeds  of  the  grasses  to  scatter 

and  sift. 
I  have  freighting  to  do  for  the  weed  and  the 

frail  thistle  drift. 

"  O    ye   apples   and   firs,    great   and    small    ar^ 
as  one  in  the  end. 

75 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Because  ye  had  life  to  the  full,  and  spared  not 

to  spend; 
Because  ye  had  love  of  your  kind,  to  cherish  and 

fend; 
Held  hard  the  good  instinct  to  thrive,  cleaving 

close  to  life's  trend; 
Nor  questioned  w^here  impulse  had  origin,  —  pur- 
pose might  tend ; 
Now,  beauty  is  yours,   and  the  freedom  whose 

promptings  transcend 
Attainment    forever,    through    death    with    new 

being  to  blend. 
O  ye  orchards  and  woods,  death  is  naught,  love 

is  all  in  the  end." 

Ah,  friend  of  mine  over  the  sea,   shall  we  not 

discern. 
In   the   life  of  our  brother   the  beech   and   our 

sister  the  fern, 


76 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

As  St.  Francis  would  call  them   (his  Minorites, 

too,  would  we  learn!), 
In  death  but  a  door  to  new  being  no  creature 

may  spurn, 
But  must  enter  for  beauty's  completion,  —  pass 

up  in  his  turn 
To  the  last  round  of  joy,  yours  and  mine,  whence 

to  think  and  discern? 

Who  shall  say  "  the  last  round  ?  "    Have  I  passed 

by  the  exit  of  soul  ? 
From  behind  the  tall  door  that  swings  outward, 

replies  no  patrol 
To  our  restless   Qui  vivef    when  is  paid  each 

implacable  toll. 
Not  a  fin  of  the  tribes  shall  return,  having  cleared 

the   great  shoal ; 
Not   a  wing  of   the  migrants  come  back   from 

below  the  dark  knoll; 


77 


ABOVE     THE     GASPEREAU 

Yet  the  zest  of  the  flight  and  the  swimming  who 

fails  to  extol? 
Saith    the   Riddle,    "  The   parts   are    all    plain ; 

ye  may  guess  at  the  whole." 
I   guess,   "  Immortality,   knowledge,   survival  of 

Soul." 

To-night,  with  the  orchards  below  and  the  firs 
on  the  hill 

Asleep  in  the  long  solemn  moonlight  and  taking 
no  ill, 

A  hand  will  open  the  sluice  of  the  great  sea- 
mill,  — 

Start  the  gear  and  the  belts  of  the  tide.  Then 
a  murmur  will  fill 

The  hollows  of  midnight  with  sound,  when  all 
else  is  still, 

A  promise  to  hearten  my  sunflowers  here  on  the 
hill. 


78 


THE    BALLAD   OF    FATHER 
HUDSON. 

You  may  doubt,  but  I  heard  the  story 
Just  as  I  tell  it  to  you; 
And  whatever  you  think  of  the  setting, 
I  believe  the  substance  true. 

The  great  North  Seaboard  Province, 
From  Fundy  to  Chaleurs, 
Is  a  country  of  many  waters 
And  sombre  hills  of  fir, 

Where  the  moose  still  treads  his  snow-yard, 
Breaking  his  paths  to  browse, 
Where  the  caribou  rove  the  barrens. 
And  the  bear  and  the  beaver  house; 
79 


THE  BALLAD  OF  FATHER  HUDSON 

Where  Killooleet  sings  from  the  ridge-pole 
All  through  the  night  and  the  rain, 
When  the  great  blue  Northern  Summer 
Comes  back  to  the  wilds  again. 

In  that  land  of  many  rivers, 
Began  and  lake  and  stream, 
You  may  follow  the  trail  in  the  water 
With  the  paddle's  bend  and  gleam. 

Where  the  canoe,  like  a  shadow 
Among  the  shadows,  slips 
Under  the  quiet  alders 
And  over  the  babbling  rips; 

You  may  go  for  a  w^eek  together, 
Reading  footmark  and  trace 
Of  the  wild  shy  woodland  creatures, 
Ere  you  meet  a  human  face. 


80 


THE    BALLAD    OF    FATHER    HUDSON 

There  where  the  Loyalists  came 

And  the  houses  of  men  were  few, 

Little  was  all  their  wealth 

And  great  were  the  hardships  they  knew; 

But  greater  the  hardy  faith 
They  kept  unflinching  and  fine, 
And  chose  to  be  naught  in  the  world 
For  the  pride  of  a  loyal  line. 

And  there  came  Father   Hudson, 
As  I've  heard  my  father  tell, 
To  serve  the  wilderness  missions, 
With  sound  of  a  Sunday  bell. 

Sober  he  was  and  a  toiler, 
Cared  not  for  ease  nor  place; 
They  speak  of  his  humour,   too, 
And  the  long  droll  shaven  face. 


8i 


THE  BALLAD  OF  FATHER  HUDSON 

Labour  he  did,  and  spared  not, 
In  that  vineyard  wild  and  rough, 
And  often  was  sore  with  travel. 
And  often  hungry  enough. 

Doubt  not,  as  he  carried  the  word 
By  portage  and  stream  and  trail, 
That  still  in  the  mind  of  his  people 
The  fire  of  truth  should  prevail. 

And  once  was  a  church  to  build, 
Little,  lonely,  apart. 
Hardly  more  than  a  token 
In  the  forest's  great  green  heart. 

With  his  own  hands  he  reared  it. 
And  often  was  wet  to  the  hide. 
And  often  slept  on  the  shavings 
Till  the  birds  sang  outside ; 


82 


THE    BALLAD    OF    FATHER    HUDSON 

Then  up  in  the  fragrant  morning, 
And  back  to  hammer  and  saw, 
Building  into   the  timbers 
Love  and  devotion  and  awe. 

So  the  fair  summer  went  by, 
And  the  church  was  finished  at  last; 
But  Father  Hudson  was  called 
To  a  country  still  more  vast. 

In  the  land  of  the  creaking  snowshoe 
And  the  single  track  in  the  snow, 
There's  many  a  thing  of  wonder 
No  man  will  ever  know. 

It  happened  about  the  feast 

Of  the  blessed  Nativity, 

When  the  snow  lay  heavy  and  silent 

On  every  bending  tree, 


83 


THE    BALLAD    OF    FATHER    HUDSON 

When    the   great   north   lights   were   stalking 
Through  the  purple  solitude, 
Father   Hudson's   successor 
Passed  by  the  church  in  the  wood. 

And  it  came  to  his  mind  to  ponder 
What  the  requital  may  be 
Of  toil  that  is  done  in  the  body, 
When  the  soul  is  at  last  set  free ; 

And  whether  the  flame  of  fervour 
That  is  quenched  in  service  here, 
Survives  through  self-surrender 
To    illumine   another   sphere. 

Then  he  saw  the  place  all  lighted, 
Though  it  was  not  the  hour  of  prayer. 
And  the  strains  of  a  triumphing  organ 
Came  to  him  on  the  air. 


84 


THE  BALLAD  OF  FATHER  HUDSON 

In  amazement  he  turned  aside. 
Who  could  the  player  be? 
And  who  had  lighted  the  lights? 
The  door  still  fast,  the  key 

On  its  nail  in  the  little  porch! 
He  turned,  put  one  foot  on  the  sill, 
Unlocked,   opened,   and  entered. 
The  church  was  dark  and  still! 

The  white-robed  spruces  around   it 
Stood  still  with  never  a  word ; 
The  sifting  snow  at  the  window 
Was  all  the  good  man  heard. 

Verily,   Father   Hudson, 
Strong  was  thy  sturdy  creed. 
But  stronger  and  more  enduring 
The  humble  and  holy  deed, 


85 


THE    BALLAD    OF    FATHER    HUDSON 

Which  SO  could  enthral  the  senses 
And  lend  the  spirit  sight 
To  behold  the  glory  of  labour 
And  love's  availing  might. 

O  brave  are  the  single-hearted 
Who  deal  with  this  life,  and  dare 
To  live  by  the  inward  vision,  — 
In  the  soul's  native  air. 


86 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.    KAVIN'S. 

Once  at  St.  Kavin's  door 

I  rested.    No  sign  more 

Of  discontent  escaped  me  from  that  day. 

For  there  I  overheard 

A  Brother  of  the  Word 

Expound  the  grace  of  poverty,  and  say: 

Thank  God  for  poverty 
That  makes  and  keeps  us  free, 
That  lets  us  go  our  unobtrusive  way, 
Glad  of  the  sun  and  rain, 
Upright,  serene,  humane. 
Contented  with  the  fortune  of  a  day. 
87 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.    KAVIN     S 

Light-hearted  as  a  bird, 
I  will  obey  the  word 

That  bade  the  earth  take  form,  the  sea  subside,  — • 
That  bids  the  wild  wings  go 
Each  year  from  line  to  snow. 
When    Spring   unfurls   her   old    green    flag   for 
guide,  — 

That  bids  the  fleeting  hosts 

Along  the  shelving  coasts 

Once  more  adventure  far  by  sound  and  stream,  — 

Bids  everything  alive 

Awaken  and  revive,  — 

Resume  the  unperished  glory  and  the  dream. 

I  too,  with  fear  put  by, 
Confront  my  destiny. 
With  not  a  wish  but  to  arise  and  go. 
Where  beauty  still  may  lead 
From  creed  to  larger  creed. 
Thanking  my  Maker  that  he  made  me  so. 
88 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

For  I  would  shun  no  task 

That  kindliness  may  ask, 

Nor  flinch  at  any  duty  to  my  kind; 

Praying  but  to  be  freed 

From  ignorance  and  greed, 

Grey  fear  and  dull  despondency  of  mind. 

So  I  would   readjust 

The  logic  of  the  dust, 

The  servile  hope  that  puts  its  trust  in  things. 

Ephemera  of  earth, 

Of  more  than  fleeting  worth. 

Are  we,  endowed  with  rapture  as  with  wings. 

(Type  of  the  soul  of  man. 
The  slight  yet  stable  plan! 
Those  creatures  perishable  as  the  dew. 
How  buoyantly  they  ride 
The  vast  and  perilous  tide, 
Free  as  the  air  their  courses  to  pursue!) 
89 


THEWORDATST.     KAVIN      S 

And  I  would  keep  my  soul 

Joyous  and  sane  and  whole, 

Unshamed  by  falsehood  and  unvexed  by  strife, 

Unalien  in  that  clear 

And  radiant  atmosphere 

That  still  surrounds  us  with  a  larger  life, 

When  we  have  laid  aside 

Our  truculence  and  pride, 

Craven  self-seeking,  turbulent  self-will, 

Resolved   this  very   day 

No  longer  to  obey 

The  tyrant  Mammon  who  begods  us  still. 

All  selfish  gain  at  best 
Brings  but  profound  unrest 
And  inward  loss,  despite  our  loud  professions. 
Think  therefore  what  it  is, 
What  surety  of  bliss. 

To  be  absolved  from  burdensome  possessions! 
90 


THEWORDATST.     KAVIN      S 

Shall  God,  who  doth  provide 

The  majesty  and  pride 

And  beauty  of  this  earth  so  lavishly, 

Deny  them  to  the  poor 

And  lowly  and  obscure? 

Nay,  they  are  given  to  all  justly  and  free. 

And  if  I  share  my  crust, 

As  common  manhood  must, 

With  one  whose  need  is  greater  than  my  own. 

Shall  I  not  also  give 

His  soul,  that  it  may  live, 

Of  the  abundant  pleasures  I  have  known? 

And  so,  if  I  have  wrought, 
Amassed  or  conceived  aught 
Of  beauty  or  Intelligence  or  power. 
It  is  not  mine  to  hoard; 
It  stands  there  to  afford 
Its  generous  service  simply  as  a  flower. 
91 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.    KAVIN     S 

How  soon,  my  friends,  how  soon 

We  should  obtain  the  boon 

Of  shining  peace  for  which  the  toiler  delves, 

If  only  we  would  give 

Our  spirit  room  to  live,  — 

Be,  here  and  now,  our  brave  untarnished  selves; 

If  only  we  would  dare 

Espouse  the  good  and  fair 

Our  soul,  unbound  by  custom,  still  perceives; 

And  without  compromise 

Or  favour  in  men's  eyes 

Live  by  the  truth  each  one  of  us  believes! 

Bow  not  to  vested  wrong 
That  we  have  served  too  long, 
Pawning  our  birthright  for  a  tinsel  star! 
Shall   the   soul   take   upon   her 
Time-service  and  mouth-honour? 
Behold  the  fir-trees,  how  unswerved  they  are! 
92 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

Native  to  sun  and  storm, 

They  cringe  not  nor  conform, 

Save  to  the  gentle  law  their  sound  heart  knows; 

Each  day  enough  for  them 

To  rise,  cone,  branch,  and  stem, 

A  leaf-breadth  higher  in  their  tall  repose. 

Ah,  what  a  travesty 

Of  man's  ascent,  were  I 

To  bear  myself  less  royally  than  they, 

After  the  ages  spent 

In  spirit's  betterment, 

Through  rounds  of  aspiration  and  decay ! 

For  surely  I  have  grown 
Within  a  cleft  of  stone, 

With  spray  of  mountain  torrents  in  my  face. 
Slow  soaring  ring  by  ring 
On   moveless  tiled  wing, 
I  have  seen  earth  below  me  sink  through  space. 
93 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

I  too  in  polar  night 

Have  hungered,  gaunt  and  white, 

Alone  amid  the  awful  silences; 

And  fled  on  gaudy  fin. 

When  the  blue  tides  came  in, 

Through  coral  gardens  under  tropic  seas. 

And  wheresoe'er  I  strove, 

The  greater  law  was  love, 

A  faith  too  fine  to  falter  or  mistrust; 

There  was   no   wanton   greed, 

Depravity  of  breed, 

Malice  nor  cant  nor  enmity  unjust. 

Nay,  not  till  I  was  man, 
Learned  I  to  scheme  and  plan 
The  blackest  depredation  on  my  kind. 
Converting  to  my  gain 
My  fellow's  need  and  pain, 
In  chartered  pillage  ruthless  and  refined. 
94 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.    KAVIN     S 

Therefore,  my  friends,  I  say, 

Back  to  the  fair  sweet  way 

Our  mother  Nature  taught  us  long  ago,  — 

The   large   primeval   mood, 

Leisure  and  amplitude, 

The  dignity  of  patience  strong  and  slow. 

Let  us  go  in  once  more. 

By  some  blue  mountain  door, 

And  hold  communion  with  the  forest  leaves, 

Where  long  ago  we  trod 

The  Ghost  House  of  the  God, 

Through  orange  dawns  and  amethystine  eves. 

There  bright-robed  choristers 
Make  music  in  the  firs. 
Rejoicing  in  their  service  all  day  long; 
And  there  the  whole  night  through. 
Along  the  dark  still  blue. 

What  glorying  hosts  with  starry  tapers  throng! 
95 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

There  in  some  deep  ravine 

Whose  walls  are  living  green, 

A  sanctuary  spacious,  cool,  and  dim, 

At  earth-refreshing  morn, 

The  pure  white  clouds  are  born,  — 

The  incense  of  the  ground  sent  up  to  Him. 

No  slighted  task  is  there, 

But  equal  craft  and  care 

And  love  in  irresistible  accord, 

The  test  and  sign  of  art, 

Bestowed  through  every  part; 

No  thought  of  recognition  or  reward. 

In  that  diviner  air 
We  shall  grow  wise  and  fair, 
Not  frayed  by  hurry  nor  distraught  by  noise,  - 
Learn  once  again  to  be 
Noble,  courageous,  free,  — 
Regain  our  primal  ecstasy  and  poise. 
96 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.     KAVIN     S 

Calm  in  the  deep  control 

Of  firmamental  soul, 

Let  us  abide  unfretful  and  secure, 

Knowledge  and  reason   bent 

To  further  soul's  intent,  — 

Her  veiled  dim  purposes  remote  yet  sure. 

For  soul  has  led  us  now. 

Science  unravels  how, 

Through  cell  and  tissue  up  from  dust  to  man 

And  will  lead  by  and  by. 

No  logic  tells  us  why, 

To  fill  her  purport  in  the  ampler  plan. 

Ah,  trust  the  soul,  my  friends, 
To  seek  her  own  great  ends 
Revealed  not  in  the  fashion  of  the  hour! 
For  she  outlives  intact 
The  insufficient  act, 

Herself  the  source  and  channel  of  all  power. 
97 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.     KAVIN     S 

The  soul  survives,  unmarred, 

The  mind  care-vi^orn  and  scarred, 

That  still  is  anxious  over  little  things. 

To  come  unto  her  own, 

Through  benefits  unknown 

And  the  green  beauty  of  a  thousand  springs. 

From  infinite  resource 

She  holds  her  gleaming  course 

Through  toil,  distraction,  hindrance,  and  dismay. 

Till  some  high  destiny, 

Accomplished  by  and  by. 

Reveals  the  splendid  hope  that  was  her  stay. 

Therefore  should  every  hour 
Replenish  her  with  power 
Of  joy  and  love  and  freedom  and  fresh  truth, 
That  we  even  In  age 
May  share  her  heritage 
Of  ancient  wisdom  with  the  heart  of  youth. 
98 


THE    WORD    AT    ST.     KAVIN      S 

Lore  of  the  worldly  wise 

Is  folly  in  her  eyes. 

All-energy,  all-knowledge,  and  all-love, 

Aware  of  deeps  below 

This  pageant  that  we  know, 

Hers  is  the  very  faith  accounted  of 

By  Him  who  rose  and  bade 

His  friends  be  not  afraid, 

When  peril  rocked  their  fishing-boat  at  sea,  — 

Who  bade  the  sick  not  fear, 

The  sad  be  of  good  cheer. 

And  in  the  hour  they  were  made  whole  and  free. 

The  sceptic  sees  but  part 

Of  Nature's  mighty  heart. 

A    wide    berth    would    I    give    that    dangerous 

shoal  — 
Steer  for  the  open  sea, 
No  sight  of  land,  but  free. 
Trusting  my  senses,  shall  I  doubt  my  soul  ? 
99 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

Let  me  each  day  anew 

My  outward  voyage  pursue 

For  the  Far  Islands  and  the  Apple  Lands. 

Till  through  the  breaking  gloom 

Some  evening  they  shall  loom, 

With  one  pale  star  above  the  lilac  sands. 

Ah,  that  day  I  shall  know 

How  the  shy  wood-flowers  grow 

In  the  deep  forest,  turning  to  the  light; 

Untrammelled  impulse  still 

With  glad  obedient  will 

The  only  guide  out  of  ancestral  night. 

Oh,  I  shall  comprehend 

Truth  at  my  journey's  end,  — 

What  being  is,  and  what  I  strive  to  be,  — ■ 

What  soul  in  beauty's  guise 

Eludes  our  wistful  eyes, 

Yet  surely  Is  akin  to  you  and  me. 

I  GO 


THEWORDATST.    KAVIN     S 

Therefore,  towards  that  supreme 

Knowledge,  that  unveiled  dream, 

That  promise  of  our  life  from  day  to  day, 

The  grace  of  joyousness 

Abide  with  us  to  bless 

And  help  us  forth  along  the  Perfect  Way ! 

The  voice  of  the  good  priest 

In  benediction  ceased ; 

The  congregation  like  a  murmur  rose; 

And  when  I  set  my  pack 

Once  more  upon  my  back, 

'Twas  light  as  any  thistle-down  that  blows. 


lOI 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AT    ST. 
KAVIN'S. 

To  the  assembled  folk 

At  great  St.  Kavin's  spoke 

Young  Brother  Amiel  on  Christmas  eve; 

I  give  you  joy,  my  friends, 

That  as  the  round  year  ends, 

We  meet  once  more  for  gladness  by  God's  leave. 

On  other  festal  days 
For  penitence  or  praise 

Or  prayer  we  meet,  or  fulness  of  thanksgiving; 
To-night  we  calendar 
The  rising  of  that  star 

Which  lit  the  old  world  with  new  joy  of  living. 
1 02 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN      S 

'Ah,  we  disparage  still 

The  Tidings  of  Good  Will, 

Discrediting  Love's  gospel  now  as  then! 

And  with  the  verbal  creed 

That  God  is  love  indeed, 

Who  dares  make  Love  his  god  before  all  men? 

Shall  we  not,  therefore,  friends, 

Resolve  to  make  amends 

To  that  glad  inspiration  of  the  heart; 

To  grudge  not,  to  cast  out 

Selfishness,  malice,  doubt. 

Anger  and  fear ;  and  for  the  better  part, 

To  love  so  much,  so  well. 
The  spirit  cannot  tell 
The  range  and  sweep  of  her  own  boundary! 
There  is  no  period 
Between  the  soul  and  God ; 
Love  is  the  tide,  God  the  eternal  sea. 
103 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT    ST.     KAVIN     S 

Of  old,  men  walked  by  fear; 

And  if  their  God  seemed  near, 

It  was  the  Avenger  unto  whom  they  bowed,  -  - 

A  wraith  of  their  own  woes. 

Vain,  cruel,  and  morose, 

With  anger  and  vindictiveness  endowed. 

Of  old,  men  walked  by  hate ; 

The  ruthless  were  the  great; 

Their  crumbling  kingdoms  stayed  by  might  alone. 

Men  saw  vast  empires  die, 

Nor  guessed  the  reason  why,  — 

The  simple  law  of  life  as  yet  unknown 

As  love.    Then  came  our  Lord, 
Proclaiming  the  accord 

Of  soul  and  nature  in  love's  rule  and  sway, 
The  lantern  that  he  set 
To  light  us,  shining  yet 
Along  the  Perfect  Path  wherein  we  stray. 
104 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.    KAVIN      S 

To-day  we  walk  by  love; 

To  strive  is  not  enough, 

Save  against  greed  and  ignorance  and  might. 

We  apprehend  peace  comes 

Not  with  the  roll  of  drums, 

But  in  the  still  processions  of  the  night. 

And  we  perceive,  not  awe 

But  love  is  the  great  law 

That  binds  the  world  together  safe  and  whole. 

The  splendid  planets  run 

Their  courses  in  the  sun; 

Love  is  the  gravitation  of  the  soul. 

In  the  profound  unknown, 
Illumined,  fair,  and  lone, 
Each  star  is  set  to  shimmer  in  its  place. 
In  the  profound  divine 
Each  soul  is  set  to  shine. 
And  its  unique  appointed  orbit  trace, 
105 


CHRISTMAS     EVE     AT    ST.     KAVIN      S 

There  is  no  near  nor  far, 

Where  glorious  Algebar 

Swings    round    his   mighty   circuit    through   the 

night, 
Yet  where  without  a  sound 
The  winged  seed  comes  to  ground. 
And  the  red  leaf  seems  hardly  to  alight. 

One  force,  one  lore,  one  need 

For  satellite  and  seed. 

In  the  serene  benignity  for  all. 

Letting  her  time-glass  run 

With  star-dust,  sun  by  sun, 

In  Nature's  thought  there  is  no  great  nor  small. 

There  is  no  far  nor  near 
Within  the  spirit's  sphere. 
The  summer  sunset's  scarlet-yellow  wings 
Are  tinged  with  the  same  dye 
That  paints  the  tulip's  ply. 
And  what  is  colour  but  the  soul  of  things? 
1 06 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AT     ST.      KAVIN    S 

(The  earth  was  without  form; 

God  moulded  it  with  storm, 

Ice,  flood,  and  tempest,  gleaming  tint  and  hue; 

Lest  it  should  come  to  ill 

For  lack  of  spirit  still, 

He  gave  it  colour,  —  let  the  love  shine  through.) 

My  joy  of  yesterday 

Is  just  as  far  away 

As  the  first  rapture  of  my  man's  estate. 

A  lifetime  or  an  hour 

Has  all  there  is  of  power. 

In  Nature's  love  there  is  no  small  nor  great. 

Of  old,  men  said,  "Sin  not; 
By  every  line  and  jot 

Ye  shall  abide;   man's  heart  is  false  and  vile." 
Christ  said,  "  By  Love  alone 
In  man's  heart  is  God  known; 
Obey  the  word  no  falsehood  can  defile." 
107 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN      S 

The  wise  physician  there 

Of  our  distress  had  care, 

And  laid  his  finger  on  the  pulse  of  time. 

And  there  to  eyes  unsealed 

Earth's  secret  lay  revealed, 

The  truth  that  knows  not  any  age  nor  clime. 

The  heart  of  the  ancient  wood 

Was  a  grim  solitude. 

The  sanction  of  a  worship  no  less  grim ; 

Man's  ignorance  and  fear 

Peopled  the  natural  year 

With  forces  evil  and  malign  to  him. 

He  saw  the  wild,   rough  way 
Of  cosmic  powers  at  play; 
He  did  not  see  the  love  that  lay  below. 
Jehovah,  Mars,  and  Thor, 
These  were  the  gods  of  war 
He  made  in  his  own  likeness  long  ago. 
1 08 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN     S 

Then  came  the  Word,  and  said, 

"  See  how  the  world  is  made,  — 

With  how  much  loving  kindness,  ceaseless  care. 

Not  Wrath,  but  Love,  call  then 

The  Lord  of  beasts  and  men, 

Whose  hand  sustains  the  sparrows  in  the  air." 

And  since  that  day  we  prove 

Only  how  great  is  love, 

Nor  to  this  hour  its  greatness  half  believe. 

For  to  what  other  power 

Will  life  give  equal  dower. 

Or  chaos  grant  one  moment  of  reprieve! 

Look  down  the  ages'  line, 
Where  slowly  the  divine 
Evinces  energy,  puts  forth  control; 
See  mighty  love  alone 
Transmuting  stock  and  stone, 
Infusing  being,  helping  sense  and  soul. 
109 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN      S 

And   what    is   energy, 

In-working,  which  bids  be 

The  starry  pageant  and  the  life  of  earth? 

What  is  the  genesis 

Of  every  joy  and  bliss, 

Each  action  dared,  each  beauty  brought  to  birth? 

What  hangs  the  sun  on  high  ? 

What  swells  the  growing  rye  ? 

What  bids  the  loons  cry  on  the  Northern  lake? 

What  stirs  in  swamp  and  swale, 

When  April  winds  prevail. 

And  all  the  dwellers  of  the  ground  awake? 

What  lurks  in  the  dry  seed, 
But  waiting  to  be  freed. 
Asleep  and  patient  for  a  hundred  j^ears? 
Till  of  earth,  rain,  and  sun, 
A  miracle  is  done, 

Some  magic  calls  the  sleeper  and  he  hears,  — 
no 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT    ST.     KAVIN     s 

Arouses,  puts  forth  blade 

And  leaf  and  bud,  arrayed 

Some  morning  in  that  garb  of  rosy  snow, 

The  same  fair  matchless  flower 

As  shed  its  petal-shower 

Through  old  Iberean  gardens  long  ago. 

What  is  it  that  endures, 
Survives,  persists,  immures 
Life's  very  self,  preserving  type  and  plan?—- 
Yet  learns  the  scope  of  change. 
As  the  long  cycles  range,  — 
Looks  through  the  eyes  of  bluebird,  wolf,  and 
man? 

What  lurks  in  the  deep  gaze 
Of  the  old  wolf?    Amaze, 
Hope,  recognition,  gladness,  anger,  fear. 
But  deeper  than  all  these 
Love  muses,  yearns,  and  sees, 
And  is  the  self  that  does  not  change  nor  veer. 
Ill 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN     S 

Not  love  of  self  alone, 

Struggle  for  lair  and  bone, 

But  sell-denying  love  of  mate  and  young, 

Love  that  is  kind  and  wise, 

Knows  trust  and  sacrifice, 

And  croons  the  old  dark  universal  tongue. 

In  Nature  you  behold 

But  strivings  manifold. 

Battle  and  conflict,  tribe  warring  against  tribe? 

Look  deeper,  and  see  all 

That  death  cannot  appal. 

Failure  intimidate,  nor  fortune  bribe. 

Our  brothers  of  the  air 

Who  come  with  June  must  dare, 

Be  bold  and  strong,  have  knowledge,  lust,  and 

choice ; 
Yet  think,  when  glad  hosts  throng 
The  summer  woods  with  song, 
Love  gave  them  beauty  and  love  lends  them  voice. 

112 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.    KAVIN     S 

Love  surely  in  some  form 

Bade  them  brave  night  and  storm,  — 

Was  the  dark  binnacle  that  held  them  true, 

Those  tiny  mariners 

No  unknown  voyage  deters, 

When  the  old  migrant  longing  stirs  anew. 

And  who  has  understood 

Our  brothers  of  the  wood, 

Save  he  who  put  off  guile  and  every  guise 

Of  violence,  —  made  truce 

With  panther,  bear,  and  moose, 

As  beings  like  ourselves  whom  love  makes  wise? 

For  they,  too,  do  love's  will, 
Our  lesser  clansmen  still ; 
The  House  of  Many  Mansions  holds  us  all ; 
Courageous,  glad,  and  hale. 
They  go  forth  on  the  trail. 
Hearing  the  message,  hearkening  to  the  call. 
113 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AT    ST.     KAVIN     S 

Oh,  not  fortuitous  chance 

Alone,  nor  circumstance, 

Begot  the  creatures  after  their  own  kind ; 

But  always  loving  will 

Was  present  to  fulfil 

The  primal  purpose  groping  up  to  mind. 

Adversity  but  bade 

New  puissance  spring  to  aid, 

New  powers  develop,  new  aptness  come  in  play; 

Yet  never  function  wrought 

Capacity  from  nought,  — 

Gave  skill  and  mastery  to  the  shapes  of  clay; 

For  always  while  new  need 
Evoked  new  thought  through  deed. 
Old  self  was  there  to  ponder,  choose,  and  strive. 
Fortune  might  mould,  evolve, 
But  impulse  must  resolve, 

Equipped  at  length  to  know,  rejoice,  and  thrive. 
114 


CHRISTMAS     EVE     AT    ST.    KAVIN     S 

And  evermore  must  Love 

Hearten,  foresee,  approve, 

And  look  upon  the  work  and  find  it  good ; 

Else  would  all  effort  fail,  — 

The  very  stars  avail 

Less  than  a  swarm  of  fireflies  in  a  wood. 

Take  love  out  of  the  world 

One  day,  and  we  are  hurled 

Back  into  night,  to  perish  in  the  void. 

Love  is  the  very  girth 

And  cincture  of  this  earth, 

No  stitch  to  be  unloosed,  no  link  destroyed. 

However  wild  and  long 
The  battle  of  the  strong. 
Stronger  and  longer  are  the  hours  of  peace. 
When  gladness  has  its  way 
Under  the  fair  blue  day. 

And  life  aspires,  takes  thought,  bids  good  increase. 
115 


CHRISTMAS     EVE     AT    ST.     KAVIN     S 

So  dawns  the  awaited  hour 

When  the  great  cosmic  power 

Of  love  was  first  declared  by  Christ ;  so  too 

To-day  we  keep  in  mind 

His  name  who  taught  mankind 

That  open  secret  old,  yet  ever  new,  — 

Commemorate  his  birth 

Who  loved  the  kindly  earth, 

Was  gentle,  strong,  compassionate,  humane, 

And  tolerant  and  wise 

And  glad,  —  the  very  guise 

And  height  of  manhood  not  to  lose  again. 

Shall  we  not  then  forego 
Lavish  perfunctory  show. 
The  burdensome  display,  the  empty  gift, 
That  we  may  have  to  give 
To  every  soul  alive 

Of  love's  illumination,  cheer,  and  lift? 
ii6 


CHRISTMAS     EVE     AT    ST.     KAVIN      S 

See  rich  and  poor  be  fed ! 

Break  up  thy  soul  for  bread, 

Be  loaves  and  fishes  to  the  hungry  heart, 

That  a  great  multitude, 

Receiving  of  thy  good, 

May  bless  the  God  within  thee  and  depart! 

You  workman,  love  your  work 

Or  leave  it.     Let  no  irk 

Unsteady  the  laborious  hand,  that  still 

Must  give  the  spirit  play 

To  follow  her  own  way 

To  beauty,  through  devotion,  care,  and  skill. 

How  otherwise  find  vent 
For  soul's  imperious  bent. 

Than  thro'  these  hands  for  wonder-working  made, 
When  Love  the  sure  and  bold 
Guides  to  the  unforetold? 
Blessed  the  craftsman  who  is  unafraid! 
117 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.     KAVIN      S 

Give  Beauty  her  sweet  will, 

Make  love  your  mistress  still, 

You  lovers,  nor  delay!    God's  time  be  yours. 

Make  low-born  jealousy 

And  doubt  ashamed  to  be, 

And  cast  old  envious  gossip  out-of-doors. 

Believe  the  truth  of  love, 

Enact  the  beauty  of  love, 

Praise  and  adore  the  goodliness  of  love. 

For  we  are  wise  by  love, 

And  strong  and  fair  through  love, 

No  less  than  sainted  and  inspired  with  love: 

Remember  the  new  word 
The  Syrian   twilight  heard, 
That  marvellous  discourse  which  John  records, 
The  one  last  great  command 
The  Master  left  his  band, 
"  Love  one  another!  "    And  our  time  afFords 
ii8 


CHRISTMAS     EVE    AT     ST.    KAVIN     S 

What  greater  scope  than  just 

To  execute  that  trust? 

Love  greatly;    love;    love  is  life's  best  employ. 

Neighbour,  sweetheart,  or  friend, 

Love  wholly,  to  love's  end; 

So  is  the  round  world  richer  for  your  joy. 

Love  only,  one  or  all! 

Measure  no  great  and  small! 

Love  is  a  seed,  life-bearing,  undecayed ; 

And  that  immortal  germ 

Past  bounds  of  zone  and  term 

Will  grow  and  cover  the  whole  world  with  shade. 

Sow  love,  it  cannot  fail; 
Adversity's  sharp  hail 

May  cut  all  else  to  ground ;    fair  love  survives. 
The  black  frost  of  despair 
And  slander's  bitter  air,  — 
Love  will  outlast  them  by  a  thousand  lives. 
119 


CHRISTMAS    EVE    AT     ST.      K.AVIN     S 

Be  body,  mind  and  soul, 

Subject  to  love's  control, 

Each  loving  to  the  limit  of  love's  power; 

And  all  as  one,  not  three. 

So  is  man's  trinity 

Enhanced  and  freed  and  gladdened  hour  by  hour. 

Beauty  from  youth  to  age, 

The  body's  heritage, 

Love  will  not  forfeit  by  neglect  nor  shame; 

And  knowledge,  dearly  bought, 

Love  will  account  as  nought. 

Unless  it  serve  soul's  need  and  body's  claim. 

Let  soul  desire,  mind  ask, 

And  body  crave;   our  task 

Be  to  fulfil  each  want  in  love's  own  way. 

So  shall  the  good  and  true 

Partake  of  beauty  too, 

And  life  be  helped  and  greatened  day  by  day. 


CHRISTMAS     EVE     AT    ST.    KAVIN     S 

Spend  love,  and  save  it  not; 

In  act,  in  wish,  in  thought, 

Spend  love  upon  this  lifetime  without  stint. 

Let  not  the  heart  grow  dry, 

As  the  good  hours  go  by; 

Love  now,  see  earth  take  on  the  glory  tint. 

Open  the  door  to-night 

Within  your  heart,  and  light 

The  lantern  of  love  there  to  shine  afar. 

On  a  tumultuous  sea 

Some  straining  craft,   maybe. 

With  bearings  lost,  shall  sight  love's  silver  star. 


THE     END. 


>^.^; 


>^7 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 
STAMPED  BELOW. 


Ties  9482 


^•i 

,4-*  ^ 


^iJ£2£5?042  225^' 


."/C  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARv'pACILmr 


A  A  001  433  398 


